Rough Game, Quidditch!
by disillusionist9
Summary: An international game breaking boundaries. A collection of ficlets, prompts and drabbles featuring Quidditch players, spectators, lovers, various pairings. HarryxViktor, LeexGeorge, ChoxOliver, JamesxRegulus, GinnyxPansy, Flintwood
1. Harry x Viktor

Zipping airborne objects were no match for a Seeker, and it didn't take long for Viktor's fingers to nab the buzzing toy from the air above him. Even with a shorter than average stature, and legs that were a bowed from years on horseback and on a broom, he had no difficulty catching the small object.

"Careful with the merchandise, Krum! Can't have you catching them all at once," yelled one of the Weasleys from the upstairs balcony.

Viktor grinned, releasing the self-propelled pixie toy that turned to stick its little blue tongue out at him before flitting away. "I would never dream of such a thing, George. What are you meant to do with this pixie, anyhow?"

"The creativity for the prank is left to the prankster!" A quick, saucy salute, and the shop owner disappeared again behind a throng of children with a multitude of questions, the most prominent of which _how do we not get caught_?

"We could make it a race," said another voice behind him, "see who could catch the most in five minutes?"

"Make it three minutes, and you have a deal," Viktor replied cheekily.

Harry pushed the hair out of his eyes and grinned widely, a much happier tableau than Viktor witnessed minutes before. It never got easier being hounded by reporters and fans for photographs, but the approach to a Quidditch star felt much less hostile than the way they approached the Boy Who Lived, and Harry was beginning to be more relaxed with the positive attention.

It appeared as though Quality Quidditch Supplies _had_ been able to garner a demonstration on a new broom from the newest Seeker for England, from his disheveled appearance. Or Harry managed to sneak away from the crowds before becoming overwhelmed. The latter was much more likely.

Viktor loved the windswept, deliriously happy, and relaxed posture of his partner, and expressed that with a sweep of his hand across his cheek. The flush of a pleased blush creeping on Harry's neck was even more endearing than the way wind painted his cheeks red.

Not one for public displays of affection, Harry grabbed Viktor's hand and squeezed it gently, a promise for later dancing on the edge of his smile.

* * *

Prompt: _Setting - Store, Couple is shopping, "What are you supposed to do with this?"_ | Pairing: _Viktor Krum x Harry Potter_ | Requested by **ash-castle** | Written July 1st, 2016


	2. Lee x George

_The inner ear is an important component of the overall balance and equilibrium for an individual. Losing a big toe, or severe damage to the ear, could make activities, once natural or easy, more difficult. At least until that balance is re-established._

George's Healer's words echoed around in his head as he fell from his broom for the third time. Laps around the Quidditch pitch were never something he had to work for, and the platitudes rushing around his head did nothing to console the fact he didn't _have it_ anymore _._ He didn't have the natural balance needed to fly with his knees gripping the broom and swinging a beater's bat…he could barely fly with both hands gripping to the handle as if they'd been Spello-taped on.

Laying flat on his back in the grass, George spread his arms and legs out around him, and wished he could sink beneath the soft, spring dirt.

Returning to Hogwarts to assist in rebuilding was simultaneously the most difficult and most healing decision he'd made since the Final Battle. With everyone working as diligently as possible, current and former students alike, the walls of Hogwarts nearly healed themselves. The pitch was left to the players for repair, just as Neville and Pomona busied themselves in the greenhouses, and Hagrid re-established the treatises with the magical creatures. George couldn't wait to jump on his broom the moment the last beam was sealed in the stadium, before the House banners were replaced, but bitter disappointment was the theme of the flight.

Slight pounding filled his hearing, drowning out the bird calls rising over the walls of the stands. He ignored it, preferring to let the world stop spinning on its own.

" _George_!"

The echoing call through the stands reverberated off his skull like falling marbles. Grimacing in pain, he held his hand to his good ear and whispered, "I'm sorry, Lee, could you repeat that?"

Two feet plodded down next to him a few minutes later, swiftly moving in the grass in his direction. Without opening his eyes, George rolled to his stomach to defend himself from whatever was coming his way, since sitting straight up would not help his swimming head. A rush of air left his lungs as Lee straddled his back and put his hands on George's shoulders.

"Good, you're alive," Lee said. "I would ask how the flying is going, but-"

"Shut up, Lee," George grumbled beneath him.

Though George couldn't see his face, he knew Lee's grin fell to a frown by the tone of his voice. Years pulling pranks on the student body, and then the world at large, didn't add up to many moments where the Weasley was despondent, but since Fred's death there weren't many things George found worth celebrating. The weight on his lower back and pelvis shifted, and George groaned as the hands pushing on his shoulders began to knead into the knots beneath his skin.

"You're such a prat," Lee said as he continued to work out the tension around his spine.

"It's what I'm best at," George replied, though the combination of slightly drooling and his face still half planted into the dirt made it a miracle Lee could understand him.

Pausing his massage to slap him gently, Lee leaned over to envelope the taller redhead's with his own, as much as possible, shoving his hands under George's chest to hug him. "I know it's hard to fly, especially here, but I thought you looked right fit for a few minutes there."

"Which time, when I landed on that pile of brooms, or just now when I almost broke my foot?"

"George," Lee sad gently, "you're allowed to be upset. I miss him, too."

Nearly anyone else in the world telling him he could cry, that they missed Fred as much as him, would receive a cold smile with a nod of thanks, or would be ignored as politely as possible. But Lee, the boy he'd grown up with and was the closest they'd had to a triplet, dug his verbal fingers into George's soul and poked right at the problem.

Lee allowed him his cry, laying flat on the soft grass of the Quidditch pitch, and held him firmly until both the sobs and the seasickness ebbed away. When several minutes passed in silence, Lee pressed his tear stained face to the back of George's robes.

"I'll fly with you. It won't be the same, but if I fly on your right, I'll be able to catch you if you fall again."

George took a last shuddering breath, relishing in the weight of Lee on his back and the emotional and physical exhaustion that follows sobbing into the earth over the unfairness of life. Shuffling underneath Lee, the other man got the hint and moved off him, and George sat up to look into the clear blue sky, considering Lee's point. Slowly the warmth of the sun dried the last tears from his cheeks. Looking over at his dread locked friend, George managed to pull one side of his mouth into a crooked smile.

"You think you can keep up with me? You're on."

* * *

Prompt: " _Could you repeat that?"_ | Pairing: _Lee Jordan x George Weasley_ | Requested by **henriasownbinder** | Written July 2nd, 2016 on tumblr


	3. Cho x Oliver

" _Chang, Chang, Chang, Chang!_ "

Cho roared victory as the Snitch fell limp in her hands. Her hair whipped around her face, and not for the first time she wished she had cut it all off before the game, and it stuck to the rivulets of rain running over her forehead and cheeks. If the wind hadn't already half-deafened her, she could have heard the jostling questions of dozens of reporters, eager to get a comment from the Seeker of the Scottish Quidditch club, on their way to the semi-finals for the World Cup.

An arm wrapped around her shoulders and swiftly knocked away another hand that tried to grab her shoulder pad. Cho shoved the would-be assailant away and leaned in closer to the protective teammate holding her close to him.

Oliver stood a head taller than her, his height working well to block two goals at once as a Keeper, and helped him to guide her out of the throng and towards the team locker rooms.

"Awa' an bile yer heid!" His voice was gruff, and carried over the sound of camera clicks and scratching quills easily, scattering a few of the less-persistant reporters.

Cho snorted in laughter at the expressions on their faces. Covered in muck and sweat, trilling with the feel of victory, their Keeper could scare away a Blast Ended Skrewt if he so desired.

"I don't understand why they let those buzzards onto the field," he gruffed, releasing her once they'd made it underneath the stands.

Cho tugged the leather buckles by her knees. Her shin injury from last season was acting up. Popping her joints released from stiff gear, she leaned up against the lockers for balance, grinning at Oliver as she wriggled her toes. "Your knickers in a twist over that last article in the paper, Wood?"

A dark brown towel smacked her in the face. Catching it, she laughed from deep in her belly, exhilaration rushing through her blood, starting at her fingertips that still gripped the Snitch. Flesh memory guarenteed she was allowed to keep it, another to add to the pile at home.

"Don't be a poor sport, Wood!" called one of the Chasers on his way out of the locker room. Most of the team were showered and dressed to celebrate at the nearest pub, the joy of winning at home sure to keep the town up past curfew, with all the lads and lasses on their team out for a drink.

"Get on, then!" Wood called to the man's retreating back, turning back to his locker to retrieve a single bar of soap.

Cho still leaned against the locker near his, and she clutched his towel to her chest, holding it hostage.

Oliver crowded her against the metal panels behind her, the echoing of showers and shouting teammates all that remained of their team, alone in the underbelly of the Quidditch pitch. Cho swallowed thickly, her cheeks turning pink beneath the thin layer of grime leftover from the match. Each piece of his protective equipment was neatly stacked on the bench by his locker, waiting to be cleaned, but she still had the entire top half of her gear on.

"Doesn't bother you does it?" Oliver muttered, his hands slowly moving from her hips to the hem of her jersey, tucked securely into her uniform trousers. "What the _Prophet_ says?"

Cho wriggled her hips, hands pinned between the towel and Oliver's chest. "Not a lick. Does it bother you? What they say?"

The lips, heedless of her desparate need of a shower, stilled against her neck. Oliver moved his head to search Cho's face. "It only bothers me what they're saying about ye."

For all his rough cheekbones, filled frame, and permanently scarred hands, Oliver Wood was the softest man she'd met in years. Cho dragged one hand up to cup his face, coarse with the day's growth, and relished the feeling of her own calloused palm dragging over the stubble.

"I've been called a lot of things, and a cheat certainly isn't the nicest," Cho said quietly, "but it's not the worst. Our team is playing better on our own merit. If they think I'm using then they can talk to my Healers."

Oliver pulled away, but only enough to move the now soiled towel, and pluck his longer fingers at the bindings tight against her abdomen and shoulders. His hips still pushed against hers. Their cotton trousers rustled against each other softly, flourescent lights above their heads showing each sweat line and line of mud against their skin.

"I could-"

"What you could do," Cho said, cutting him off before he could work himself into a fit, "is celebrate that we've made it to the semi-finals."

Oliver stared at his fingers, still working out the knots and buckles of her uniform, working slowly on purpose, a soft smile easing the tension from his face. The last few straps released her chest so she could breathe freely again. With that first draw of breath after the corset-like protection was removed, Oliver stole the moment by resting his forehead against hers, and pressing his lips to hers, the hands previously holding her hips tangling into her windswept hair.

"Oliver," she mumbled against his lips, returning his fervor and running her hands over his neck and shoulders.

"Hmm?" he replied as he nipped at her bottom lip.

A bloom of excitement, separate from the thrill of winning the match, grew in her chest and stomach as he continued to nip at her lip, her neck, her earlobe. Pushing him away enough to detach his searching teeth, Cho smirked and started jogging towards the showers, calling over her shoulder, "Would you mind if I cut my hair shorter?"

"You do what you want to, love," he called out, breathless from their almost-snogging, taking a stride for every two of hers. "I'll help you wash it no matter what length it is." 

* * *

_Something short and sweet for your July 7th._


	4. James x Regulus

"And it's Potter with the Quaffle; his arm certainly healed well after his last Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. We all remember? When his arm got in the way of that bludger? Anyway, he's on his way down the pitch now, if these Slytherin Chasers don't start playing some defense. He's got a good headwind and...what's that?

"Black's diving! The vulture - sorry, Professor - the Seeker's been up above the stands all game for those paying attention. If he catches that snitch before Potter that's game and Slytherin wins! Black's awfully close to the ground, and the Gryffindor Seeker's caught on."

James pushed his broom for all its worth towards the goal posts, wind whipping around his goggles and whistling in his ears. The robes on his back fluttered in the wind, and he cursed the drag caused by the cross wind, his shoulders straining. He could hear every word Fabian announced since the day was swelteringly hot, so there was no wind disturbance, and the birds were hiding in the Forest instead of fluttering curiously around the pitch. The last game of the season, his last of his sixth year, was postponed out to the end of May after half the school came down with a very late bout of the flu.

One of the Chasers spun up beneath him, a corkscrew move he'd watched with Omnioculars from the tower one evening. Remus shook his head and returned to reading each time he saw his friend crouched on a windowsill with the bronze glasses pressed firmly to his face.

His werewolf hadn't caught on he only watched the Slytherin's practices.

"A daring move by Davis, coming up underneath Potter on his fight to the goalposts! Black is still chasing the Snitch with Kelpie not far behind. This match could decide the House Cup!"

His right arm was still very sore from his last injury, and his left wasn't as adept at scoring goals, so James had to push himself much closer than normal to the posts at the end of the pitch. Slytherin's Keeper, Evan Rosier, perched on his broom with both arms outstretched, puffing himself up like a predatory bird. A hot wind caught the curved wall of the stands below, blowing beneath the collection of players around the goals, and causing James' already dry lips to crack.

 _Closer...closer_...

James ignored the screaming in the stands and the call of the commentary, blocking it all as he dove smoothly beneath the last opposing Chaser, digging his fingertips into the Quaffle as much as he could. With a firm purchase, he curved the red ball towards the goal closest to Rosier's head, a daring move he rarely brought out, but as the Quaffle grazed his rival's ear and sailed into the open space, a _gong_ of another ten points echoed through the stadium. Like the volume on Sirius's wireless, the sound came blaring back as swiftly as it had disappeared.

"Regulus Black has caught the Snitch! The game is a tie, Slytherin two hundred thirty and Gryffindor two hundred thirty! This sort of cock-up could only happen between these two teams, I'd right like to see-"

No one found out what Fabian wanted to see, as Madame Hooch wrestled the microphone from his hands while perched on her broom. Several players and students near the announcer's box were treated to Professor McGonagall rapping him smartly over the head for his foul language.

James resisted rubbing his injured forearm as the rules for the tie-break were explained: with a score over two hundred, each team's first Chaser, chosen by the entire team, had the chance to score five goals. If each Chaser succeeded in getting the Quaffle past the Keeper, then they'd move onto the next phase.

Fletcher Spinnet, the Gryffindor Keeper and Captain flew straight for James. "Your arm, Potter, can you throw? You're our best and you know they'll tag Lestrange to throw the next set."

Adjusting his goggles, James flexed his gloved fingers, growing sticky beneath the leather in the heat. Swallowing thickly, James nodded, and thanked whatever stars were listening he hadn't used his right hand the whole game, so he was fresh to throw these last five. When James looked down at the contrast of the brown of his glove to the Quaffle in his hand, he breathed in once, letting it go after a few seconds.

Tucking his feet on top of his broom so he held it in a crossed-leg cradle, he kept his eyes trained to the goal post and pirouetted to give his arm as much pure momentum as possible, when he stuttered to an almost halt, not stopping the Quaffle from leaving his fingers in time.

Silver eyes, not green, met him squarely and caught the ball with the ease of a second year.

How had he _not_ noticed the switch?

Each team was allowed to place their best Chaser and Keeper at the goals for this tie-breaker, and Regulus stared him down defiantly from the Keeper position though he'd just caught the Snitch. James cleared his throat and felt that twist in his stomach he was having a harder time interpreting between nerves, excitement, jealousy...or something he was not ready to admit yet. Regulus was their best Seeker, but without a Snitch included in these proceedings, his Keeping skills and unbound black hair would pose more of a threat to James than Rosier.

Rosier didn't look at him _like that_...with hunger and determination. No one looked at him like that.

 _He's Sirius's little brother. And I like Evans, right? Get it together, Potter!_

He thought the last bit was shouted in his head, but it rose from the stands below them from some faceless boy.

Gathering his wits, as best he could, James launched another four throws, landing all but one. Regulus looked furious as he missed the other three, and James stopped breathing when he turned to pin him with a stare. Rapacious and domineering, Regulus tacked him in place as surely as a collecter of rare and beautiful insects.

Neither heeded the battle at the other end of the pitch as the Gryffindor Keeper clinched the victory, blocking all goals but one from the Slytherin Chaser. James landed with his team, buried under a pile of joyous bodies, the heat growing stifling, but he could still feel the white-hot poker from a calculating set of silver eyes.

* * *

 _Originally posted within my Choose Dare challenge ficlets, but this one fits the bill nicely. 7/22/2016_


	5. Harry x Viktor, Draco x Theo

Harry hissed sharply as the Quidditch trainer wrapped another layer of gauze around the deep gouge in his arm. The wound was already healing, but he was headed back into the air, and Draco turned a deaf ear to his pleas for speed.

"Shut up, Potter, there is a _time out_ just for you. You'll get after that Snitch when I tell you that you can."

"You take so bloody long-"

"It's not something Theo complains about."

"I really didn't need to know that."

Draco charmed the end of the strip to fuse seamlessly with the gauze below, and Harry was ready to go back in the air. Draco turned to pack away his healer's satchel to protect the potions and material inside from the downpour outside the pop-up tent. As Harry pulled his gloves and grieves, now partially ruined from the broom collision, back over the gauze, he scowled at Draco's smirk.

"I'm only saying he appreciates a man who takes care to-"

Harry threw his hands over his ears, like a child, and not a man of nearly thirty. "Malfoy!"

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, and alerting the reporters buzzing outside the tent that the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice-Like-How-Does-That-Happen and the Death Eater playing doctor got along better than they thought, Draco rested a friendly hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Trounce them, Potter."

"Planning on it," Harry replied, some tension returning to his shoulders as the time slipped away until the pop up tent disappeared into Draco's pocket and he was on his broom. Taking care to help Draco back into his raincoat, the other man's trick elbow and shoulder acting up terribly in the poor weather, Harry nodded once in thanks before slipping his goggles back on.

Before Draco could cast the charm to release the tent back to its original size, the flaps flew apart violently, snapping shut behind a woman who looked much drier than even magically possible in the torrential weather. Arms folded in front of her black robes, only a bit of white trim at the edges breaking up the shadowy ensemble, Pansy blew a hair out of her face. One close-cut fingernail, bare of color but with impeccable cuticles, tapped a syncopated rhythm on her arm.

"Pans, if there is an unconscious security guard out there when I leave, I swear to Merlin I will get you banned from this stadium."

"Draco, darling," she said, her steely demeanor falling away as she kissed him once on each cheek. Shoving him towards the exit, she purred, "Go check on your other patient."

The purring stopped when the manager turned to her player.

"Potter, if you get injured again this season _they will start to consider cutting you from the Magpies_. That Skeeter bitch is stirring up trouble about retirement rumors again and you don't need to give them any more reasons to grow that shit into fucking public concern. You and Weasley are going to drive me crazy. Don't you _dare_ , not tonight!"

Harry's jaw clicked shut as he bit back his jibe. "You walked into that one, Parkinson."

"If you give me lip I will make you bunk separately from Viktor when we go to Italy next week," she threatened, drawing her finger back away from its place in the center of his chest. "Not that I really want to sign off on another broken hotel bed. You both are animals. Please try to be more careful, it gives me a heart attack when you get injured."

"Pansy," Harry said, drawing her name out in a sing-song voice, even as his cheeks flooded red with embarassment at her comment about what he and Viktor got up to, "you're acting like you care again."

She flipped him the bird on her way towards the exit. "You are my job, Potter, and if you get benched I have to actually _work_ and do my job with those reporters and team owners."

Laughter, drowned out by a clap of thunder, filled the tent as she disappeared back into the stands. Draco popped his head in for a moment, rain ruining whatever hairstyle he'd attempted that morning as the deluge broke through the charms, to make sure Harry got out before he put his medical facility away. A flash of light later, from lightning or a reporter's camera he didn't know, and Harry was back on his Firebolt.

* * *

[A/N] **July 25th, 2016** \- _Originally this was supposed to be Hansy, but I want to continue the same pairings I started with in this fic, to make it canon compliant up to pre-epilogue. Much love to everyone who continues to read and review, you make this worth it._


	6. Ginny x Pansy

The door to the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror creaked, the hinges a bit rusty after years in the fluctuating and often humid climate. Her extended stay hotel room in Oslo, the hallways growing louder by the day as spectators, teams and journalists arrived for the International Confederation of Wizard's Quidditch Committee. As another herd of people passed by her door, she groaned and grabbed the small Sober Up potion bottle, a welcoming blue hue. A single swallow was all she needed before bringing the rest with her out to the main room.

Crisp white sheets beneath the blanket Ginny brought with her to each international match, and the reluctant sunlight of a late autumn morning in Norway, made Pansy's hair stand out sharply. Black tufts of unbrushed hair poked above the blankets pulled up over her nose. As Ginny approached, moving quickly across the hardwood floor that was much cooler than their shared warmth on the bed, one hazel eye cracked open to regard her critically. Without a word, a manicured hand extracted itself noisily from a sheet to grab the rest of the potion.

Ginny burrowed beneath the covers and took the empty vial once Pansy had polished it off. Reaching over to grab her lover's hand, she smirked as Pansy squealed in protest of her chilly fingers and toes seeping warmth from various places all over her body.

"I've got two seminars this afternoon with the Harpies," Ginny said, kissing Pansy chastely to apologize for the invasion of warmth. "One's with the Tornados, and that will run until after tea. Will I be able to see you at dinner? We could meet Cho and Oliver?"

Pansy cleared her throat, dry from sleeping with her mouth open, which she insisted she did _not_ do, even when Ginny snapped one forbidden photograph. "Are they appearing in public together again?"

Ginny shrugged. "I'm not sure. Since I walked through Diagon Alley with Harry and Viktor, I don't read the _Prophet_ much. I've had plenty of the wizarding world casting aspersions on their favorite celebrities and their relationships, or not-relationships."

Pansy hummed in understanding, moving the hand, not playing with cuts and callouses on Ginny's palms, up to rub away the bit of mascara the redhead hadn't managed to wash away the night before. She knew there was some managers and scouts meeting in forty minutes but she wasn't in a huge hurry. Hers wasn't a typical manager/player relationship that needed twelve steps from some overpaid life coach to improve. She only attended these international conventions to watch the wizened old men catch hers and Ginny's matching tattoos: Pansy's, a dragon's tail, was disguised as a snake when viewed alone, curling delicately in line art around her left wrist and forearm. A blatant _fuck you_ to everyone who thought she'd taken the Dark Mark, but a comradic move for her friends who had, a motion of solidarity. When the wrist rested against Ginny's side, Pansy's arm draped across her back to hold the shorter woman's left hip, the tail connected to the dragon's body spanning from hip, to waist, towards Ginny's spine.

"Dinner with Cho and Oliver," Pansy agreed, doing her best to not sound put-upon for sharing her limited quality time while on this trip, and planted one more kiss on Ginny's cheek before extracting herself to dress for the boring convention meetings. She found solace in the knowledge the dull conversation material would allow her ample free time to fantasize about what to dress her wife in that night. She knew Ginny was watching her as she slid, naked, from between the sheets and walked to the chest of drawers.

"Would you wear the red lipstick tonight, Pans?" Ginny called from the bed, sitting up to lean against the wooden headboard.

Pansy stood, and glanced at Ginny over her shoulder as she pulled the straps of her bra up. "The one that stains your neck?"

Wickedly, Ginny grinned and waggled her eyebrows the way she'd learned from her brothers. "The very one."

Returning the wicked grin, Pansy found she was much more excited for that evening than she was before.

* * *

 _August 19th, 2016. Femslash weeks on tumblr! This week, August 14th-20th was Ginsy. They are one of my favorite pairs, especially when showing opposite a Drarry or other MLM pairing. Also posted on tumblr today_


	7. Marcus x Oliver

"If we were gonna have a threesome who would you want it with?"

"Harry Potter." Oliver replied without hesitation, grabbing a shot off the tray to disguise the shake in his hands.

Marcus stared at his husband, who was halfway out of his Quidditch leathers, as he waited for him on the bed. "You're not joking. You want to bugger Krum's husband."

"Oh, piss off, Marc, you know you want him, too."

"Well, of course…there's something _very_ appealing about that situation."

* * *

 _prompt from: anonymous_


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